


Where Our Story Begins

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent & Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Sex, Brief descriptions of almost dying, Everybody's pack, Friends to Lovers, Human Stiles Stilinski, Implied magical Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: It all started with the kelpie even if that wasn't what it was.





	Where Our Story Begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fearfrost1211](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfrost1211/gifts).



> My contribution to the [Eternalsterek Secret Santa](http://eternalstereksecretsanta.tumblr.com/), and made as a gift for [fear-frost](https://fear-frost.tumblr.com/). This is not _precisely_ what you asked for, but I hope you'll enjoy it either way, I definitely enjoyed writing it :)
> 
> This is unbetaed because I ran out of time so if there are any glaring mistakes feel free to point them out, otherwise comments, kudos and constructive critism is always appreciated
> 
> If you think tags are missing, let me know.
> 
> And if you prefer stories without an explicit rating just skip the part **VI**

**I**

It all started with the kelpie.

Well, to be precise it all started back when he was 16 and had dragged Scott into the woods, but considering the clusterfuck that had turned out to be – with kanimas and evil grandpas not to mention the animosity between them all and whatnot – Stiles usually tended to ignore those few years when telling the story.

So – it started with the kelpie. And whatever was a kelpie even doing in a goddamn forest in the first place, is what Stiles would very much like to know. Or, he would have if he wasn’t just a little preoccupied fricking _drowning_! But he was, so he missed what had probably been an epic battle of the pack taking down the ginormous horse creature only to come to on an all too familiar (and all too cold, too) steel table, looking up into the alpha’s worried eyebrows.  
Admittedly _all_ of Derek is probably worried but his eyebrows seem to be the only part of him actually willing to admit it.

Turns out the kelpie isn’t as much dead

_“It wasn’t a kelpie, Stiles,” Lydia snaps at him._  
_“Then what was it?” he asks, mind already going in a million different directions trying to remember every bit of lore he’s ever read concerning either horse-like creatures or creatures wanting to drown some poor, unsuspecting guy minding his own business. Every thought comes to a screeching halt when a heavy hand lands on the nape of his neck and this sort of calm just washes over him._  
_“We don’t know,” Derek grumbles._

as it had just made a strategic retreat in the light of being massively outnumbered; though why it would isn’t very clear considering nothing the pack did had seemed to do any sort of permanent damage, but Stiles isn’t really in the mood for analyzing the reasoning of some unknown entity when it’s suddenly decided that he should have a babysitter.

“I can take care of myself,” he says, outraged that his _best_ friend would throw him under the bus like that. Derek’s gone back to his usual blank expression and Stiles can’t help but wonder if maybe he’d imagined the worry in the first place. Even now after saving each other’s lives several times, making Jackson into a real wolf and getting rid of aforementioned evil grandpa; after prying Boyd, Erica and – surprisingly – Cora Hale from the clutches of the alpha pack (and disposing of them – _permanently_ ), Stiles sometimes get the feeling that Derek doesn’t like him, only tolerate his presence in the pack because he’s kind of a prerequisite for Scott staying.

Then there are times where Stiles will unexpectedly turn his head and catch Derek staring at him with something close to fondness in his eyes, times when Derek ducks his head and Stiles is almost a hundred percent certain there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth brought forth by whatever Stiles was doing or saying at the time. Those times Stiles can’t stop his heart from beating a little faster or his palms getting a little sweatier or his mind drifting off into a pleasant daydream, one he’s usually rudely brought out of again by Erica’s snickering and Lydia rolling her eyes while everybody else simply ignore him.

**II**

Things are once again quiet when they finally mange to get rid of the kelpie

_“Still not a kelpie, Stiles,” Lydia says though her voice has the resigned tone of someone who has given up on making the person they’re talking to see reason._

not that any of them really know how, in the end they had simply thrown anything they could think of at the creature and at some point it had sort of just vanished with a ‘plop’ and the smell of rotting flowers. It meant they didn’t have to stay and deal with the corpse and could get the hell away from the stench quickly; small blessings and all that.  
It also meant that things could get back to normal especially with Derek going back to his own home rather than staying at the Sheriff’s house (so, Stiles had moved back home after college, that’s hardly a crime), and Stiles resolutely _did not_ miss sharing space with the werewolf. 

But though things had quieted down considerably since those horrible high school years where it’d felt like they were battling a new monster every week, the Nemeton still attracts the occasional creature so it’s hardly a surprise when the siren shows up.  
Not that they take one look at the new barista in town and go all body snatcher screechy on her, but when the dust settles on that particular fiasco the pack give each other knowing looks before going off to somewhere that isn’t the house where Derek and Stiles are yelling at each other.

-

It had been a perfectly ordinary Monday. As the newest deputy in Beacon Hills, Stiles was the one tasked with getting the coffee for the rest of the station; a task he’d gleefully accepted as it meant his dad wouldn’t be getting any of those sugary concoctions he’d been drinking at work with the excuse that they were called coffee.  
As always Stiles had his eyes on his phone and just made his way to the counter where he rattled of the usual order, knowing full well that Edith Wilson had had it written down since before Stiles was born; Beacon Hills sheriff’s department was nothing if not dependable.

It’s the chuckle that has him snap his head up, eyes going wide in shock because if that’s Mrs. Wilson then he would very much like to know where the Fountain of Youth is located these days. There’s something familiar about the woman, both her looks, voice and laugh strikes a chord of recognition in him though he’s certain he’s never laid eyes on her before in his life. He shakes the unsettling feeling and with an awkward chuckle apologizes before repeating the order in a significantly slower tempo giving her time to enter it all on the register.

He’s pleasantly surprised when, while making the different coffees, she strikes up a conversation. Stiles may have gotten more control over his tongue since leaving his teens, but he’s still a proficient rambler and it’s always nice to have a captive audience. The woman smiles and laughs at all the right places, even manages to put in a few questions or remarks of her own, and soon Stiles has forgotten that feeling of having seen her before, engrossed in their conversation as he is.

It’s a few weeks later when he’s doing his grocery shopping and a woman who seems familiar comes up to him and starts talking as if they’re old friends. He spends far too long trying to place her – all his high school friends are in the pack, the ones he made in college are half a country away from Beacon Hills, and Stiles never really was good at making new friends in the first place, which means he could point out every single one of those he _do_ call friends even if it was pitch black inside the store – and at long last his silence make her close her mouth seconds before a sheepish smile stretches her lips, a blush rising on her cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“You don’t remember me,” she says as she laughs a little shyly. Stiles sees no need to argue her statement even if he’s beginning to feel a little bad about it.

“I’d forgotten how different you look without the uniform.” Her smile has lost some of the sheepishness even if Stiles isn’t really any closer to figuring out who she is.

“I’m Kereda. Your friendly neighborhood barista!? And you’re the cop with the funny name who laughs at my lame ass jokes every morning.” By now there’s something hopeful in her expression and Stiles finally recognizes the woman who’s taken over for Mrs. Wilson while the elderly lady is recovering from a broken hip, and as recognition sparks it feels natural to send her a smile in answer to hers and stretch out his hand.

“Yeah, of course,” he chuckles. “And you’re right, it’s like Clark Kent and the glasses.” She laughs and before Stiles is sure what happened he finds himself at the diner, curly fries and milk shake in front of him as he and Kereda are talking the hours away. He’s dimly aware of a phone ringing continuously but it’s all lost in the kaleidoscope of the woman’s eyes; a shiver runs through him as if the temperature has suddenly dropped and out the corner of his eye he sees… no, that can’t be right, how can there be a fifteen foot tree in a diner in Beacon Hills?

Stiles focuses on Kereda’s face – the skin too smooth and with the wrong hue; eyebrows too light and too thin – watches her mouth move, he can’t make out the words but the voice is wrong, something he can’t reconcile with the face before him. And then he hears it, other voices calling his name, howls echoing through the air making it through the fog in his head and he groans when he realizes he’s in the preserve getting dragged towards the lake where he’d nearly drowned barely three months ago.

His wrist is held in an iron grip and though he’s nowhere near as scrawny as he was at sixteen he’s still human and Kereda clearly isn’t, no matter what he tries it’s impossible to get her grip to loosen in the slightest as the steadily nears the edge of the water. The tips of his shoes have almost breached the surface when Derek barrels into the woman claws and teeth out reaching for anything to tear at. There’s a slight hesitation, a fraction of a second as if she thinks it’s not worth the effort but then she lets go of Stiles and turns to meet the threat head on.

The rest of the pack soon descends upon her but not until Stiles has seen the human melt away to be replaced by something that essentially resembles an oversized, beach ball with orange and yellow fur and long, snake like limbs ending in something that might be blades – they leave shallow wounds on the wolves that soon close up again. It’s over almost as soon as it began, Isaac and Boyd dragging the now very dead siren away from the lake presumably to get rid of it while Derek stalks towards Stiles, the wolf receding and with the return of his eyebrows the disapproval is clear on his face.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something in his own defense, but it’s lost in an indignant squawk as Derek bends and lifts him bridal style carrying him off in the direction of the pack house, the others following quietly.

The ensuing screaming match reaches epic proportions, even if Stiles loses on points when he trips over the last step on the stairs; Derek’s chuckle accompanies him all the way to his dreams.

**III**

The fairy isn’t Stiles’ fault; he’d like everybody to know that. The tiny terror had shown up on the full moon, thrown some sort of dust at Derek, cackled manically and said something that involved a lot of chirping noises nobody could make sense of, before it was gone as abruptly as it had shown up.

Not that anybody was scrambling to find the thing as they were all staring at the alpha and trying to shield their ears from the horrible sound of 206 bones breaking to morph into a different shape. Once the last crack sounds where Derek was just seconds ago there is now a gigantic, black wolf, its eyes a blazing red amidst all the dark fur.

There’s no sound, as if the entire forest is holding its breath; even the wind has stopped blowing and all they can hear is the memory of the leaves rustling and the blood rushing in their veins. As if by agreement it’s Stiles who takes a step forward, reaching his hand towards the wolf, his voice a higher pitch than usual when he says a single word.

“Derek?”

The wolf tilts its head as if wondering why anybody would ask such a silly question and then there’s a tongue slobbering all over Stiles’ hand.

“Okay then,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants with a look of disgust on his face; nostrils flaring when Jackson snorts a laugh at him.

“Screw you…” he starts but is cut off by Derek growling and flashing his teeth at the beta until he bares his throat and takes a few steps back. Puzzled Stiles files the interaction away to be looked at when Derek’s back to his usual self. He takes out his phone and shoots of a quick text to Lydia letting her know what has happened asking her if she could maybe try and get some answers from Deaton. It’s not that Stiles wouldn’t enjoy dragging the cryptic man from his sleep; it’s just that experience has taught him Lydia is far better at getting answers from the man than Stiles is.  
Then he tells the pack he’s going to head back to the house and start looking through the bestiary and see if there are any answers there.

He leafs through the books in Derek’s library, Peter’s laptop and his personal copy of the Argent bestiary. There’s nothing anywhere to suggest what the fairy had done to Derek or why and aster hours of research with nothing to show for it Stiles falls asleep in the chair he’s sitting in, bend over the desk and with his head resting on the book he took from the shelf two minutes earlier.

Stiles doesn’t even stir when Boyd carries him upstairs and puts him to bed, doesn’t react when the bed dips and a warm body snuggles closer. He sleeps undisturbed, his arms wrapped around a body that at some point loses its canine shape leaving Stiles and Derek to sleep in each other’s arms.

**IV**

The harpy infestation is nothing but a minor footnote: unpleasant for sure and not something any of them hope happens again, but a footnote nonetheless.  
The omega who crosses the border three days later, however, is an entire different story.

For starters because it decides to kidnap Scott.

Stiles and Scott had made plans to veg out on the couch playing video games just like they used to before werewolves became something that turned out to be real. It’s a day just for the two of them, no talk of pack or Allison ~~or Derek~~.  
So when his best friend isn’t obnoxiously ringing the bell at nine in the morning Stiles knows something is wrong. 

Not much has happened since the morning he woke up in Derek’s bed and had snuck out while the man was still asleep, but seeing as that’s months ago maybe they should’ve all been prepared for something to happen soon. He calls Allison, hoping that Scott has simply forgotten their appointment and gotten lost in her dimples (it has happened before); she calmly tells him that Scott had left at eight like he always does when it’s “bro-day”, her voice quivering slightly as she tells him to pick her up on his way to the pack house, she’ll text the others to meet there, too.

The jeep’s the last car to pull up, the pack already gone trying to pick up Scott’s scent. Stiles makes tea, figuring both he and Allison are too keyed up to need coffee right now and Lydia’s on some weird cleanse or diet or something (he’s stopped paying attention to these things, it comes with being her friend rather than her stalker) and only drinks this foul smelling thing; he sticks to jasmine for his and Allison’s though.

It’s noon before the door opens and Derek’s standing there in a pair of running shorts and a sweaty wife beater, making Stiles forget to be worried, at least until he opens his mouth.

“We found blood between your house and the Sheriff’s,” he says, but before his audience has time to panic he thankfully continues.

“It’s just a drop or two, and even if it’s definitely Scott’s it’s not something to worry about.”

Which Stiles is inclined to believe, after all he’s seen his friends practically hemorrhaging their internal organs and they’re still here. He does know about nasty things like vaporized wolfsbane though, so he’s not ready to relax just about yet. As if reading his mind Derek’s suddenly looking him right in the eyes.

“There’s the scent of another werewolf, omega most likely, but nothing else.”

And just like that Stiles feels like he can breathe again.

Derek drives while Allison and Stiles are clinging to each other both worried about Scott but hopeful they’re going to get him back in one piece. The car slows down once they reach the part of town with all the abandoned warehouse, and when it finally stops Derek wordlessly orders them out and motions for them to follow him.  
About 500 yards away the rest of the pack joins them just before they reach one of the larger buildings.

It’s dark inside and Stiles holds tight onto Derek’s top, knowing the wolf will make sure he doesn’t trip over anything or walk into a wall or something equally noisy. It doesn’t take long, though, to get Scott and his abductor in view.  
The stranger’s talking but his voice too low for Stiles to make out the words, but the sight of his clawed hands confirms the suspicion that he’s a werewolf so Stiles reaches for the chain around his neck from which hangs a small vial filled with mountain ash. He removes the lid and _believes_ , making an impenetrable barrier between the stranger and Scott.

Once they’ve made sure Scott’s safe and sound Derek orders the lot of them to go home while he waits for Deaton to come question the strange wolf. Stiles takes it as a sign of personal growth when the alpha doesn’t even glare at him when he sits down having decided to keep him company while waiting.

Turns out the guy has a grudge on Peter and for some reason had thought Scott was his beta and could lead him to the man. When Scott had told him he had no idea where Peter is the man hadn’t believed him. Stiles, because he’s a nice guy, gives the man the information he’s after: Peter Hale is currently gallivanting through France with Chris Argent. At the disgusted face the man pulls Stiles nods sagely and says.

“Yeah, I called TMI on them, too,” he smirks, “but at least they left it at the euphemisms.” 

When Deaton shows up the stranger is practically in tears and begging to be far aware from both Stiles and Derek, the alpha cracking a smile once they’re out of sight cause Stiles’ heart to go into overdrive and the smile getting replaced by an expression he can’t decipher.  
Then he turns on his heel and starts running leaving Stiles to drive home by himself.

**V**

They’d all thought the Nemeton was dead, nothing but an empty shell of its former glory working as a beacon drawing supernatural creatures with ill intent to the town. But Lydia had found an obscure reference and she and Stiles had managed to piece together a ritual to cleanse the tree and make it grow once more.

Neither would ever go into detail but all the wolves had felt their connection to the land and each other strengthen – they’d been surprised realizing that both Peter, Chris, Melissa and the Sheriff were pack, though that had been nothing compared to the humans’ surprise when feeling the pack bonds for the first time – and when they’d gone to see the Nemeton the full moon following the ritual none of them had been the slightest surprised at the sight of thin branches and light green leaves growing from the stump.

And with everything being all peaceful and winter fast approaching Derek probably shouldn’t be surprised when most of the pack showed up on a chilly Saturday morning, bringing boxes filled with decorations and cookie ingredients inside. Soon the house smelt like cinnamon, oranges and cloves, there were fir, festoons, lights and wreaths everywhere and on the mantle of the fireplace hung fourteen stockings each with their owner’s name embroidered. 

Sunday was spent decorating outside and by the time the pack declared themselves done Derek was very happy there weren’t anybody living in the preserve; a pair of legs were sticking out the chimney, the lawn was practically invisible beneath the reindeer and the sleigh with the sack of presents not to mention the angels and snowmen and giant letters. Everything, including the entirety of the house, was wrapped in lights. Derek could see white, yellow, red, green and blue, some lights were static others not and some even changed color continuously. It reminded him of Christmases past and looking to his uncle and sister he could see they thought the same even if they were both smiling.

Overwhelmed Derek just stands there taking it all in before suddenly wrapped in a hug by Boyd. Hesitantly he reciprocates which seems to be some kind of sign as the rest of the pack’s suddenly just there and they’re all hugging each other, even Peter and Chris a part of the group in a way they rarely are.

They end the evening in a pizza induced food coma laying around on the furniture and floor of the living room with some movie Stiles picked playing on the tele vision, Derek’s basking in the warmth of pack and the bodies flanking him and doesn’t even fight the tug of sleep.

**VI**

Stiles’ eyes are glowing amber where the light streaming through the bedroom window hits them just right, his mouth stretched wide on a loving smile and his entire expression soft in a way Derek has never seen; it makes his heart beat faster and his palms sweaty, adrenaline pumping through him though the only thing he dares move is his eyes, raking over the naked body pinned beneath him.

It has taken years to get here and Derek intends to savor the moment for as long as he can. He remembers two boys searching for an inhaler, remembers a human shaking with fear who refused to let him go. For a second he regrets that it has taken them this long, but they’re all brushed away by hands framing his face and long fingers stroking his cheeks; they both needed the time to learn to trust _themselves_ as much as they trusted the other.  
The wolf stretches beneath his skin and Derek concedes that he also needed the time to reconnect with the wolf, learning to trust his instincts again.

Besides it hardly matters anymore that they’ve moved towards each other at glacial speed, what matters is that they’re finally here, together. This, _them_ , is still exhilaratingly new that lying here both of them bared to the other’s eyes, should feel like it’s going too fast and while Derek feels like he’s tied to the front of a runaway train he in no way feels like things are going too fast, his senses telling him that Stiles doesn’t think so either.

“You’re sure,” he still asks, needing Stiles to consent with his voice as much as his steady heart beat and intoxicating scent broadcasting nothing but _lust_ , _need_ , _want_. 

“Yeah,” Stiles rasps, pulling Derek’s face closer to his own slotting his lips over the wolf’s. It’s gentle, tentative because even if they’ve kissed a million times by now this feels different, something new they both have to explore together.

Derek gets lost in it, the feel of Stiles’ lips against his own, his tongue swiping his bottom lip before asking for entrance which Derek willingly grants by parting his lips, Stiles mapping the cave of his mouth with the slick muscle. Derek’s holding himself perfectly still but then Stiles _groans_ and he can feel the vibrations of it all the way down to his toes and he needs to see if Stiles tastes as good as he remembers.  
Once upon a time Derek thought kissing – sex for that matter – was a battle; but with Stiles it’s like a dance, a push and pull of one leading and the other following before turning and the follower suddenly being in charge.

Maybe it’s seconds or possibly eternities later when Derek pulls himself from Stiles’ mouth placing feather light kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, behind his ear and down his neck where he latches onto the pulse point, worrying the skin there marveling in the broken sounds coming from Stiles’ throat.

Stiles’ skin is warm beneath his hands as Derek tries to touch every bit of skin he can see; he plays connect-the-dots with the moles adorning his chest, combs his fingers through the treasure trail below Stiles’ navel. He marvels at the fact that even though Stiles has bulked up he can still span the width of him with both hands, revels in the way he shivers when Derek rubs his hands up and down his torso.  
His thumb catches on Stiles’ right nipple and he’s rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a spike in the scent of arousal. His gaze zeros in on the way it pebbles and he doesn’t bother with eye contact.

”Can I?”

“Anything. Anything you want, Derek.”

The last vowel of his name is drawn out and tapers off into a moan as Derek seals his mouth over the hard nub and _sucks_. He doesn’t let up until Stiles is reduced to whimpers, a limp hand resting in Derek’s hair as if Stiles doesn’t want him to move but is somehow too weak – or maybe just unwilling – to forcefully ensure he stays.

Once Derek’s done feasting on Stiles’ nipples he lets his mouth travel the path his hands took earlier, making sure to taste everywhere he’d touched leaving not as much as a single mole untouched as he slowly makes his way further down. Stiles is pliant beneath him, letting Derek’s movements guide him as how to move himself. Up until now Derek’s knees have been planted firmly on the outside of Stiles’ legs but the further he travels down his body the more he’s overcome with the need to _see_ , so he carefully moves one leg at a time until there’s room for him between Stiles’ parted legs.

He bypasses Stiles’ cock – long and slender like its owner and Derek is almost drooling at the thought of getting to have it inside him – rubs his face on the thin skin at the inside of Stiles’ thighs, a satisfied rumble rising in his chest when the skin pinks prettily. He follows with kisses to the thighs, the hollow of his knees, down the calf; he steers clear of the underside of Stiles’ feet, knowing he’s terribly ticklish though he places a kiss to the arch of the foot before making his way back up, from shin to knee to thigh where he nuzzles at the crease where the leg’s attached to the body.  
The smell of Stiles is overwhelmingly strong here and Derek is helpless to do anything but inhale the scent of him, rumbling happily in his chest.

Stiles’ hands against his skin, drawing patterns on his shoulders and upper back stroking down his arms as far as they can reach makes him lift his head and catch his gaze with his own. Stiles’ eyes are blown wide the pupil swallowed almost all the color in them, his body taut as a bow string as he holds himself completely still under Derek. Despite the lust rolling off of him Derek still opens his mouth to ask though Stiles answers with a smile before words can pass his lips.

“Derek.” It’s hardly more than a breath and yet it’s Stiles’ heart soul handed to him on a silver platter in that single word, and how is Derek supposed to resist that, the love and _trust_ given to him so easily? The answer obviously being that he can and so he surges, pours everything he has, everything he is, into a kiss that leaves them both breathless as Stiles meets him halfway every bit as desperate as Derek.  
Their moans echo between them passes back and forth as part of their kiss; it’s impossible who makes which sound as they’re pressing closer to each other, their bodies locked in the same slick slide as their mouths.  
This time it’s Stiles breaking the contact, his hands once again coming up to frame Derek’s face.

”I need you,” he says, desperation lacing his tone. “Inside me, next to me. It doesn’t matter, I just need to have you.” His heart beats steadily. “ _Now,_ ” he whimper growls before kissing Derek senseless once more.

Derek has no idea how he’s managed to get hold of the lube, let alone how he’s gotten some of it onto his fingers but it hardly matters at the sound Stiles makes when he circles the puckered skin, lathers it with the slick substance gently testing the give, and then he’s inside, barely even an inch of his finger buried in Stiles and it feels as if he’s going to explode from it.

”More,” Stiles sobs and Derek complies pushing in to the second knuckle. Stiles’ mouth is hanging open and his breath’s ragged but rather than wait he bares down taking the whole digit, Derek stares, enraptured at where he’s inside Stiles, watches the flex of his muscles as he moves, trying to ride the finger.  
Derek puts his other hand on Stiles’ hip stopping his movements then withdraws his finger completely. Before Stiles can voice any objections Derek lifts the bottle of lube pouring another helping onto his finger. This time there’s no hesitation as he pushes two fingers inside Stiles.

Stiles mewls encouragingly, wordlessly telling him to speed things up. Derek leans forward causing his finger to press even deeper than before and Stiles obediently lifts his hips to grant him better access. It brings his cock closer to Derek’s mouth and he doesn’t even think about it, just opens his mouth and takes him to the root. He’s rewarded with a cry of pleasure from Stiles who’s soon rocking back unto Derek’s fingers and bucking forward into his mouth. It’s not long before his breathing shifts and Derek doesn’t need the tap against his wrist to know Stiles is going to cum.  
He doesn’t pull off, simply open wider trying to get Stiles further down his throat wanting to taste everything he’s willing to give and when he clamps down on Derek’s fingers and floods his mouth Derek eagerly swallows every last drop. He doesn’t care for the consistency but it’s outweighed by the taste of Stiles exploding in his mouth, sliding down his throat as it flexes around the still hard shaft. Once there’s nothing left and Stiles is pushing at his forehead he reluctantly lets go of the flesh; he raises a questioning eyebrow while twisting his hand which Stiles answers by squeezing around the digits still exploring his hole. Derek takes it as his que to add a third.

When Derek finally withdraws his hand satisfied with the stretching he’s done and coating his own cock in a liberal amount of lube Stiles is fully hard again, his gorgeous cock standing proudly in its nest of dark curl almost as if it’s trying to lure Derek in once again. This time he refuses to fall for its wiles choosing instead to fold Stiles in half by now trusting him to voice any objections he may have.  
When none comes Derek nudges against his hole applying pressure until the head of his cock is past the muscle and he’s approximately half a breath from cumming his brains out. Stiles seems to sense it as he’s stopped moving when Derek did, this time content letting the wolf set the pace. It’s equal parts amazing and torture hovering on the edge of Stiles’ body and Derek _has_ to move so he presses closer, infinitely slow half an inch at the time until he’s sheathed to the root, his thighs against Stiles’ asscheeks. That’s when slow flies out the window.

Derek grips his hips, trying to be gentle but he knows there’re going to be marks tomorrow and he can’t help a smug smile at the thought. It drops soon though as he picks up the pace, pulls from the comforting grip of Stiles’ body just to push back inside again, again, again, while minutely trying to change the angle. He knows it’s right when Stiles practically howls and meets him thrust for frantic thrust, nothing but the squelch of lube, the slap of skin against skin and Stiles begging for release.  
It’s not until the tingling at the base of his spine indicates his own immediate release that he wraps a dry hand around Stiles’ length, tugging at it in the same rhythm as he snaps his hips and together they stumble over the precipice.

**~Fin~**


End file.
